


A Moment in Time

by evermint



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Infidelity, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21524992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evermint/pseuds/evermint
Summary: From 1974 to 1984, this is the story of the meetings, and missings, of two hearts, told through a few fleeting moments in time.
Relationships: Brian May & Reader, Brian May/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

Soho, London  
February 1974

“You need to stop doubting yourself. Your potential is huge. Trust yourself,” Roy encourages you, squeezing your hand and pulling you closer to his side so you’re safely under his umbrella.

You’re fresh out of uni, and by a sheer stroke of luck, you had met Roy Baker, a pal of your art professor’s, after your final art exhibition at school. He happened to be in the market for a photographer to shoot an album cover for a rock band you had once heard of as an up and coming band. Impressed by the portraiture work you were showing, he said you would be just the person for the job. You were young, broke, and flattered. 

The two of you step out into the pouring rain and set a frantic pace through the buzzing Soho streets. The snow had just melted a few weeks prior, so the air is still frigid. The splash from passerby’s soak your jeans. There’s no time to even consider your nervousness. The walk leaves you out of breath and the upcoming job leaves you feeling even more winded. 

Thankfully, Roy doesn’t live too far from the studio you booked, which is blissfully warm. Throwing your coat aside, you shake your hair out and feel droplets of freezing rain soak into the back of your shirt. You’re just thankful your camera survived the treacherously wet journey. There’s chattering and laughing in the other room. Roy leads you out of the entryway and into the studio. 

“Boys! Meet your photographer,” Roy announces to the room, smiling at you proudly. 

You flash the boys your biggest grin. You’re bombarded with welcomes and introductions. 

A flitty, energetic man called Freddie seemed to sense your nervous excitement, and immediately attached himself to your hip. 

“Darling, I just want to reassure you - the four of us may be called Queen but there is only one hysterical queen here, and it’s usually me. So don’t you worry.” 

“I just can’t believe I’m in the presence of royalty,” you tell him, grasping the singer’s arm lightly. 

“Oh, stop it, you’re too sweet,” Freddie says, patting the back of your hand.

“You joined us at just the right time, love. We were just getting the party started. Come on, let me make you a drink,” Roger says. His hands fall to the small of your back as he guides you to the plastic table set up in the corner of the room, doubling for a bar. You decide he’s sweet, although outrageously flirtatious. 

It was a Friday night and they were a rock band. Of course, they were just itching to party. 

“I think what you need… is a tequila shot,” Roger said with a mischievous grin.

“Don’t scare her too badly. She has to be sober enough to take photographs,” The guitarist, a spindly man, warned. He joins you and Roger and shoots you a shy smile, almost afraid to meet your eyes. 

“Thanks mate, I almost forgot. Thank God all we have to do is stand here and look pretty,” Roger says, with an exaggerated hair flip. He poured three shots anyways. 

You downed it with a wince, but the two boys didn’t even blink an eye. 

“How are you feeling?” Brian asks you softly. 

“I’m alright, just a bit nervous. Is it really that obvious this is my first real gig out of uni?” You ask.

“You have absolutely no reason to be nervous. You’re incredibly talented. We all saw your photographs.” 

You blush, avoiding eye contact. But you can’t help but grin. 

“The ones you took of that David Bowie lad are amazing. You know- he’s such an inspiration for us.” 

“Oh, yes, David! He’s really something, huh? I just know he’ll make it big. How can a man like that not? He was dating my cousin at the time. That’s how we met, actually. Honestly, I’m just so glad to hear from Roy that you were all on board with the photo concept.”

“Yes, well, John and I were a bit nervous at first. But Freddie loved it to death,” he says.

Your heart dropped.

“Oh! You don’t like the idea? We can play around with it. It doesn’t have to be-”

“No, no! Sorry - I really do love the idea,” Brian cut off your rambling. “It’s just that Marlene Dietrich is such a legend, and the photo is so… regal... I’m not sure we live up to it.” 

“You must be joking. I listened to the entire album on repeat at least five times before I came up with the concept. It’s amazing. It’s like… Ziggy Stardust meets Led Zeppelin. Queen will be legendary. But not with that attitude, it’s not.” 

You watched in amusement as the tables turned and Brian turned beet red. 

“I guess we both just need a bit more faith in ourselves, then,” Brian muttered, scratching the back of his head. 

“I’ll drink to that,” you say with a grin, cheerfully pouring another shot. 

Your conversations with the band, meeting face to face for the first time, was going so well you almost forgot you were here to do a job. Watching Roger go in for another tequila shot while telling Roy about the chick he was going to see later tonight, you decide it was time to get started before everyone completely unravelled. By this point you were feeling pleasantly warm and giggling far too often. So you switch into your most professional attitude and begin to move the boys into place.

“Brian, I think you ought to be standing in the middle, above Freddie. That lovely hair of yours works so well as a compositional device,” you instruct. 

Brian, blushing again, moves to the center.

“There’s a good space poodle,” Freddie says lovingly. 

The shoot flies by. The boys were having too much fun posing and arguing with each other. Your face was sore from grinning so much and your back was tired from climbing around on ladders to adjust lighting. Once you announced it was a wrap, the boys immediately starting cheering and pouring drinks once more. 

“Listen, you’ve been incredible and taken such lovely photographs for us. I just know that with a photo like this on our second album, we will take the world by storm!” Freddie announced eagerly.

“As a token of our appreciation, let us take you out! A night on the town with the Queen!” Roger said, swinging his arm around your shoulders. The boys responded encouragingly. Even John, who was a few drinks in, was nodding enthusiastically. 

“I’d better stay back tonight, boys. Roy’s given me a tight turn-around time so I need to develop the film as soon as possible.” 

Dramatic groans ensued.

“Oh, come off it, love. You’ve plenty of time. But only one chance to party with the one and only,” Roger boasted, squeezing you. 

“Oh please, Roger. I’m certain you don’t need me to have a good time, judging by your plans for tonight,” you tell him with a playful nudge.

As the boys started wrapping themselves up in their coats, in the back of your mind, you felt as though perhaps you were making a mistake. They were a lovely, raucous group of guys who you wouldn’t mind having as your friends. Pushing the thought aside, you begin to turn down the lights and get your equipment together. You hear the boys leave, congregating just outside the window for a smoke. 

“You sure you won’t come out with us? Just for one drink,” comes a soft voice from behind you. 

You whirl around and look up to see sweet Brian and his doe-like hazel eyes. He meets your gaze, and then quickly looks down to fiddle with a button on his coat with those shockingly long fingers.

“I’m really sorry. Next time, yeah?”

Brian returns your smile. Perhaps it was tinged with sadness, or perhaps it was just your wishful thinking.

“Yeah, for sure. It was really nice to meet you.” 

“You as well, Brian.” 

Brian lingers for a bit, looking as if he were about to say something. But he evidently decides against it. At the door, he looks back at you with a soft smile and a wave.


	2. Chapter 2

Kensington, London   
May 1974

You knock on the white door while you resolutely ignore the flutter in your stomach. It wasn’t the idea of partying in a nice neighborhood that got to you. Rather, it was the idea of seeing the Queen boys after their tour and catching up had you jittery with excitement. 

The last time you saw them was a few months ago, at their show at the Rainbow Theater. The music and the energy from the crowd was electrifying. Freddie was like a glorious peacock on stage. His presence was infectious. It was the first time you ever saw them perform live. You decided not even five minutes into the concert that you were right about them. Queen would be legendary. 

The hum of people and deep beat of music could be heard through the door. Someone you don’t recognize lets you in. 

Walking into the living room where all the ruckus was coming from, you immediately spot Freddie Mercury on top of another man’s shoulder, whooping while waving the Queen II album above his head. You can’t help but laugh. 

“Roger!” You exclaim, weaving your way through the crowd to the blonde haired man by the kitching counter. He was popping open another bottle of beer with his teeth. 

Roger’s baby blue eyes flew open wide as he sees you approaching. Spitting out the bottle cap from between his teeth, he embraces you in a bone crushing hug. 

“How was the tour? You must tell me everything,” you say, gratefully accepting the beer Roger presses into your hand.

“It’s been incredible, honestly. Would be better if you were there with us,” Roger said with a wink. You roll your eyes, but cheers with him anyways. 

“Darling!”

You see Freddie skipping towards you. He kisses you on the cheek.

“You’re quite a vision to behold, Freddie!” 

Freddie purses his lips and sticks his arms out. He does a quick twirl. He’s wearing an embroidered robe that drags on the floor behind him and a catsuit. 

“Designed it meself. You like?”

“Yes, it’s gorgeous!” 

“I was just telling her about our tour and how she needs to come with us,” Roger pitches in.

“Excellent idea, Roger boy,” Freddie shouts. 

You giggled, crinkling your nose at the idea of living with four men cooper up in a tour bus. It was just a disaster waiting to happen. Freddie grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around.

“Just imagine it. Our next tour - America - with you by our side. What a ride! Brian! What do you think?”

You turn your head to see the man in question approach you. He wraps you in a hug, muttering a hello. There’s a twinge in your heart that you curse yourself for. His hand lingers on your arm for a moment. 

“It’s been a while, eh?” 

“Well, you lot have certainly been busy.”

“I’m heading out, loves, see you when I see you!” Roger announces to you and Brian. The two of you shake your heads in amusement as he struts by with no less than two girls on his arm. 

“Especially Roger. That man is always busy,” Brian mutters to you, cocking his eyebrow. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that man without a lovely lady on his arm,” you mused, hiding your smile behind the glass rim of your beer. You notice how his eyes flick down quickly. 

“Well, Queen has certainly gotten a lot more well-known around town since you photographed us,” Brian said with a shrug. 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten. You’re still meant to take me out for a drink, no?” You say boldly. 

“That’s right. After you so rudely rejected us to develop your film.” Brian says, feigning hurt.

“Oh please. Aren’t you glad I did it though?” 

You point to the album cover that Freddie left on the kitchen counter. 

“Yes, well, I suppose I am. The cover is amazing.”

“And to think… you and John hated the idea at first!” You poke him playfully, watching in amusement as he blushes. 

“I never said we hated it!” Brian pokes you back. “Now you’re just putting words in my mouth.” 

Giggling, you swat his hand away. 

Suddenly, you notice a girl come around Brian, her arms looped around his waist. He looks down in surprise before smiling softly and pressing a kiss into her head.

“Have you met Chrissie yet?”

“Oh! No. I haven’t.” 

Chrissie greets you warmly, shaking your hand. She has beautiful, warm brown eyes. Freckles like constellations across her cheeks. Long caramel strands that fall in waves. You feel a knot form in the pit of your stomach. 

“So how long have you two been dating?” You ask. 

“Not too long, actually. Maybe a few weeks?” Chrissie says, looking up at Brian.

“That’s so lovely! Well, I’m so glad to meet you. And it was great catching up with you, Brian. Let the other boys know I had so much fun,” you say, putting your beer down in preparation to leave.

“Yes, of course. Oh, but wait - I don’t know when we’ll get to see you again. We’re heading off on a tour of America next week.”

“Oh! I see.” You pause, feeling a tad guilty. “You’re going to have to let me know when you’re all back then. Anyways, I’ve got to head out now. Best of luck,” You say hastily, leaving before he can say anything.


	3. Chapter 3

Portobello Road, London  
August 1975

When the door to the shop jingles, you recognize the new customer immediately. The largeness of his bouncy curls in contrast to the smallness of his lanky figure. How his jacket can't cover the full length of his arms and how he always slouched as if he felt it impolite to take up more room than everyone else. 

He starts to browse casually and aimlessly in the aisle across from you. From behind the roll of vintage film, you take a peek at his face, which is scrunched in fascination as he studies a camera. As you set the film down, the movement catches his attention and he looks up. 

“Brian?”

“Oh,” Brian says, looking a bit stunned. He blinks. “Hi. It’s good to see you. How have you been?” 

“Alright,” you say, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy. You mirror his actions and step out from your aisle to meet him face to face. He wraps you into a tentative hug. His clothes feels cold from the outside air, and his curls tickle your nose. 

“How are you?”

“I’m ok,” Brian says with a shrug, looking down to study his shoes. “Had some health issues lately, but I’m feeling much better.”

You cock your head. Last you heard of the boys, they were having the time of their lives touring America with Mott the Hopple. You realize suddenly that he’s gotten much thinner. There’s a purple shadow under his eyes and a paleness that didn’t used to be there. You had chalked it up to life on tour, playing shows and partying like proper rockstars. 

“I’m sorry to hear that…” You say, wondering if you could ask him more without appearing rude. 

“Are you ok?” You decide to say simply. Sometimes people didn’t ask the simple questions enough.

“Y-Yeah… I guess I am. I’m ok. I’m happy to be back recording.”

You return his gentle smile.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” 

“What about you? How is your photography going?”

“Oh, it’s going very well. This band I photographed last year, Aerosmith, invited me to New York to see them perform. I just got back.” 

Brian’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Aerosmith? I love their music. They did Dream On, right?” 

You nod.

“I did the cover for an album. It was a great time. Amazing performers, the lot of them.”

“Absolutely. Joe Perry…. Is incredible.” 

“Well, yeah. Don’t tell him I said this, but I think you’re better,” you whisper with a playful wink. 

Brian laughs, pulling his hands out of his pockets and running them through his hair. 

“You’d take that back if you could hear how I’ve been playing lately. Being sick took so much out of me.” 

“M’am,” the shopkeeper interrupts. He hands you the stereoscope you come to pick up. 

“All fixed up. Good as new. Shouldn’t have any issues with it now.”

“Thank you so much, sir.” 

“Of course. You have any issues, just bring it back to me!” 

The store keeper waddles back to his store room. 

“Is that a stereoscope?”

You hold up the pair of lenses gingerly. It’s a handheld size, a boxy thing. 

“Yes, actually. My boyfriend got it for me for my birthday. It’s rather old though, from the nineteenth century apparently, so it needed some fixing up.”

Brian looks up at you with a curious expression on his face. He blinks a few times, before looking back down at the stereoscope with intense fascination

“Isn’t it amazing that they developed these in Victorian times? Just to think…”

“Oh, just you wait until you use it to look at the images! They really pop off the page.” 

“What images do you have?”

“He got a couple from the Diableries series. They essentially depict a Victorian understanding of hell. Very ghoulish, but also… strangely fun and colorful.” 

Brian looks at you in fascination.

“Would you like to come over and see? They’re at my flat.” 

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean to impose. I wouldn’t want to-”

“Oh, please. I live so close by and I insist. You won’t regret it!”

The walk to your flat was quick, as promised. The place is small, considering that it served as both your photography lab and home. But, it was perfect to you. You may be living in a poorer neighborhood, but the enormous windows that lined your apartment and the lower rent was a trade off you happily accepted.

“It’s a bit of a mess in here,” you say apologetically, breaking the amicable silence that developed between the two of you. There are piles of undeveloped film canisters and failed silver gelatin prints spread across your table. Jugs of chemicals sit alongside mugs of tea on your kitchen counter. Your boyfriend had a few friends over last night, so there were half empty bottles of wine littered around the living room. 

“Don’t worry. I quite like mess. It actually seems unnatural to me when someone’s home is too neat, you know?” Brian replies amicably, untwining his scarf. 

In the back of your mind, you feel as though he is avoiding your eyes. Something had certainly shifted, something you couldn’t put your finger on. You decide to ignore it as you flung your purse on the couch and set about searching for the images.

“Found them!”

You pull Brian down onto the couch and present the images your boyfriend thoughtfully gifted you. You slide one of them into the stereoscope, and hand it over to Brian. 

“Oh!” His jaw dropped. “This is incredible.”

“Isn’t it lovely? Don’t you feel as though you could just walk right in?”

“Are those skeletons? This is from the Victorian era?”

“Yes and I think they come from France.”

“The clarity is astonishing. And the little ghouls and skeletons are just so fun,” Brian gushed, his eyes still glued to the stereoscope.

“Yeah… oh!” You suddenly remember what you forgot to show him. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you angle him so that he faces the window and the images can catch the afternoon light seeping in. 

“Under the light, the colors really pop. That’s what really took my breath away.”

Brian goes quiet for a while, before pulling away from the stereoscope in awe.

“Their eyes glow red. It’s amazing.”

You can’t help but laugh at his response. He looks over at you and the awe is written all over his face.

“I said the same exact thing.” 

You lean in to peak at the image again yourself. After a bit, you slide in a new image and watch his childlike reaction. You only had a few images, but Brian appeared to enjoy each and every one of them just as much as you had. 

“So who made these images? It’s so ingenious.”

His voice breaks you from your focus. You pull away from peering into stereoscope that is in Brian’s hands, and suddenly realize in your absentmindedness, you let your chin rest on his shoulder for a bit too long. 

“I honestly don’t know too much about them. My boyfriend might know more though. I can ask if you’re interested.”

“Ah, no worries. No need to bother him. I’ll look into it myself. I like to research things like this anyway,” Brian says quickly, avoiding meeting your eyes.

“I thought I would be the only photo nerd to geek out over something like this. But, it turns out, you’re a nerd just like me,” you say teasingly, nudging him. 

You watch in amusement as his cheeks color. He was the same, after all. You thought that life on the road in America would have changed him. But he’s still the soft-spoken, gentle, and intellectual man he always was. 

The afternoon continued on much as it had before. The light pouring through the window started to warm, and then dim. Tea had been boiled twice. You had gone through the images with him twice, too, and then thrice. 

You decided you really liked discussing with him the mechanics of lenses, and the eyes, and the brain. And how the camera can be shifted to create a three dimensional pair of images. And how a moment in the Victorian imagination could be captured and then immortalized. 

By the time the stars had come out and there was no more light to look into through the stereoscope, you were snuggled up in a throw blanket and much too lazy to get up and turn the lights on. Brian begins to tell you about the constellations outside your window. You decided you liked the way Brian looked at you, with those bright, boyish eyes of his full of excitement and knowledge. With your chins resting on the back of the couch, you listen as Brian recites the stories he has engraved in his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Trident Studios, Soho, London  
October 1978

“Roy! I’m serious! I’m just going to intrude!” 

“Nonsense, love. It’s been way too long and the boys love you!” 

Roy squeezes your hand in the crook of his arm tighter as he weaves through the streams of people in the cramped alleyway of Saint Annes Court. He comes to a stop in front of a set of garishly blue, barred doors. The otherwise nondescript white brick building belied the music that was being created there. Roy punched in the code quickly, still refusing to let go of your hand in fear you’ll bolt. 

It’s true - you hadn’t seen the boys in a number of years. Sure, you would occasionally run into Freddie on the social circuit, and there was the time you showed Brian your stereoscopic images, but you had not seen the band together since ‘74. You felt almost reluctant, knowing how long its been and how incredibly famous they were now. It seemed you couldn’t go to a pub in all of England nowadays without hearing Bohemian Rhapsody. 

Roy pulls you into the cramped entryway of Trident and burst through the door of the recording studio. With the two new arrivals, there was now a veritable crowd in the room, but that didn’t stop Freddie from jumping out of his seat and over John’s lap to get to you. He crushes you with a hug while the other boys shout their greetings. Freddie pulls you down to sit with him on the leather couch in the back of the room.

“Well, I was just out to lunch with Roy, and he mentioned you were finishing up your new album! I just had to come by and see how you were all doing.”

“Oh it’s been gruesome work. We have been slaving away over this record,” Freddie drawls, as he lights a cigarette.

“Well the hard part making the actual music is done now with little pain. But it’s been nothing but arguments these last few days because Fred is set on Bicycle Race and Fat Bottom Girls as the first release. Lord help me. Oi - toss me the lighter, will you?” Roger says from across the room. You note that his hair was much shorter and shaggier now. But Roger was still Roger. And he still had to squint when speaking to you from across the room, giving his baby blues the effect of bedroom eyes. The way he held himself, suave and confident, had remained the same throughout all the years. 

“I’m just saying it’ll be a good way to introduce audiences to the style and sound of the record!”

“Then that would obviously be More of that Jazz! It’s literally the title of the record!”

“So why don’t we do Bicycle Race and More of that Jazz, then? Everyone happy?” Brian suggested.

“Obviously not. We have to release the two songs together since there is so much cross over thematically,” John pitched in, looking bored of the argument. You note that John had changed quite a bit. He was soft-spoken, yes, but when he did speak, it appeared as though the rest of the bands really listened. 

“Well, why don’t we play them now we have an unbiased listener?” Brian asks. He gets up and moves to the soundboard. Fiddling around with the sound engineer for a few moments, the first song begins to play. You listen intently, as the boys continue their debate in the background.

As you listen, you can’t help but notice how much Brian has changed over the years. The last you saw of him, he was all nervous energy and geeky trivia unfurled into six feet of lankiness. Now, watching him pace about the room, he was different. Much more confident. Of course, you remind yourself, since you last saw him, he has traveled around the world playing to legions of adoring fans and willing women. You had always known he was confident when wielding a guitar - that much was for sure watching him perform for the first time all those years ago. But now, he had an air of self-assuredness even without a stringed instrument in hand. 

You gather from the conversation that Brian had written Fat Bottomed Girls, much to your surprise. So the naivete and innocence was truly gone, you mused. Before all this fame, you would bet a million pounds before believing Brian was capable of writing a song about… ‘heap big women.’ Even you can’t help but blush at the lyrics. 

“That was the most... fun album I have ever heard,” you say in conclusion, a wide grin on your face.

“You love it? You love it!” Freddie jumps up. 

“Of course I love it. It’s absolutely triumphant.”

“So ‘fun’ is how you would describe it then?”

You nodded. 

“Well then what is the most fun song on the album?”

You pause, weighing all your options. It feels as though everyone in the room is holding their breath.

“I… really can’t say. It’s a toss up between Bicycle Race and Let Me Entertain You, in all honesty.” you say finally.

“Well, there we go! I think it’s obvious the most fun song is Bicycle Race,” Freddie said, crossing his arms. 

The debate ensued with even more vigor.

“If you insist on releasing Bicycle Race and Fat Bottomed Girls, I can think of the perfect visuals. Imagine if we did a photoshoot of a load of naked girls on bicycles. And the album cover can be just one girl’s naked arse on a bicycle.” 

The room fell silent. You blink, suddenly terrified of what the response would be.

“You’re hired!” Roger suddenly screeched. 

You grin.


	5. Chapter 5

Fairmont Hotel, New Orleans, Louisiana  
October 1978

Life was an absolute whirlwind. You had just flown to Los Angeles to attend a film premier that your good friend John Carpenter directed, and to shoot with a few bands your friend introduced you to. While at the premier, you speak with John’s publicist, Bob Gibson, who just so happened to be planning some elaborate Halloween party for Queen and was getting ready to fly out to Louisiana the following weekend. 

“Babe, you’re on the list! I was planning on calling you this week. Freddie said, and I quote, to ‘fly that crazy bitch out here if you must!’” 

“He did not.”

“Yes ma’am. And Freddie’s wish is my command. So you’re coming.” 

It’s Halloween night, and you’re skipping out of a smoky bar arm in arm with Roy, who had sprayed his hair white, painted his face, and put on a skeleton bodysuit. You donned the slinkiest, sparkliest green dress you had ever seen while shopping around in Los Angeles, and wrapped ivy leaves from the costume shop around your arms and legs. With a ruby red apple in hand and lips to match, all you were missing was the Adam to your Eve. 

You were feeling a tad guilty accepting the invitation. You had promised your boyfriend Tom, who had been similarly traveling nonstop, that you would be home for the weekend and the two of you would have spend some time together. But when you were invited to what was promised by Bob to be the party of the decade, you knew you just had to go. While the idea of spending Halloween weekend in with takeout and a good movie was appealing, Bob reminded you that you were twenty five years old, and that all this work and serious business was taking over your life. You had to agree. Plus, Roy and Freddie had been trying to get you to go to a Queen party for ages, but it seemed as if the moment you left a city, Queen would arrive to perform. When you called Tom to explain that night, he was upset. Understandably so, but it also seemed as though he was upset with you more and more as time has gone on. It irked you to think about it, so you pushed your concerns aside, determined to have a great time. 

“Jump me bones,” Roy would keep saying to the girls around him, hiccupping. You pull him in closer to your side and reprimand him for his bad skeleton puns.

By this point, you were four drinks in, and your feelings of guilt about the whole situation had pretty much disappeared. Walking through the French Quarter, all you could focus on were all the new sounds, smells, and sights of Bourbon Street.

“How could we have gotten this drunk before we even arrive at the party?” You giggle to Roy as the two of you make your way down to the Fairmont. 

You genuinely thought you and Roy were nearing your reasonable drinking limit. But little did you know of the night you were about to have. 

The enormous ballroom of the Fairmont was redressed and transformed into a skeletal forest. It was swarming with people. Some people you recognized from the rock music scene. There were familiar faces and old friends you’ve worked with in the past. Others were sound engineers or producers you had vaguely encountered in the past. But there was also a fair amount of total strangers who no one seemed to know, decked out in their full Halloween get up. 

Your head starts to spin. In the back of your mind, you register hearing an elaborate, full trumpet fanfare announcing the arrival of the band. You’re distracted, though, watching Roy tuck a dollar bill in a cocktail waitress’ bare arse. 

“Me old bones be weary! I need some marching powder!” 

“Enough with the bad skeleton jokes!”

Roy ignores you and drags you through the crowd. It has gotten progressively more chaotic since you two first arrived. Bodies of all shapes and sizes and genders. Grinding and jumping and gyrating. 

“Oi! Lenny!” 

Of course Roy is on a first-name basis with all the coke dwarves. Roy pleads and you join him. It was a new experience for sure. You had never done a line off a platter strapped to a dwarf’s head.

You hear Roy yelp in surprise, and turn around to see a beautiful blonde stripper dancing in a swinging cage slide her skirt off to reveal that she was very much a man. 

You clutch onto Roy for support, but the two of you are too intoxicated and laughing much too hard to stand up straight, and so you stumble straight into Roger Taylor. 

“Ey - watch where you’re going! Can’t you see I’m busy!” 

Roger, in typical Roger fashion, is dressed as a pimp for Halloween, and is busy signing his name with permanent marker on a girl’s cheeks. 

“You’re busy my arse, Rog,” you laugh. 

“Hey!” Roger finally recognizes the two of you, pulling you both into a hug. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll happily busy your arse, love,” Roger says lecherously. He looks up and down appreciatively at your costume before giving your behind a playful slap.

You yelp, whacking his arm. 

“I’m so glad you’re here! Honestly, it was getting kind of ridiculous. I’ve heard Roy and Freddie scheme and try to get you to our show so many times. But you always left the moment we arrived!”

“So don’t you go giving Rog crap for being busy,” Roy warns you.

“You can’t say I didn’t try! My schedule is just insane. Trust me, I’ve wanted to come just as badly. It was a pure coincidence that I ran into Bob in LA and could make it to the party.”

“Your presence is a blessing, your highness,” Roy says sarcastically. You punch his arm. 

“So then - where’s your Adam tonight? Guess it’ll have to be me.” 

“Not tonight, Roger. I have been elected the protector on behalf of her boyfriend,” Roy announces. 

“Oh, please. I’m a female photographer. I’ve had more experience fending off horny rock stars than you ever will, Roy.”

“Ouch!” Roger and Roy say in unison. 

Feeling bold, you press a ruby red kiss onto Roger’s cheek. He acts flustered. 

“What happens in Louisiana, stays in Louisiana, baby! Now, would your boyfriend object to a body shot off a very willing stripper?” 

You shove him playfully, rolling your eyes. 

“Roy?”

Roy jumps on the opportunity.

Starting to mentally tally up how many drinks you’ve witnessed Roy have over the course of the night, you begin to groan. If you end up having to take care of him tonight, that would make for the third time in a row, and you will be very upset indeed. 

“Looks like someone isn’t having fun,” a voice says in your ear. 

You spin around.

“Brian!” Your face lights up seeing your old friend. He spins you around as you hug him.

“I’m having a lot of fun. Just regretting how much I let Roy drink. And snort. And smoke,” you say with a resigned sigh. Your comment elicits a laugh from Brian, who grabs your shoulders and spins you around to watch as Roy and Freddie both attempt to belly dance with a snake around their shoulders. You throw your head back laughing, letting it rest on Brian’s chest. His heart is beating awfully hard against his chest. 

“Is Freddie dressed as a lumberjack?” You ask, looking up at Brian.

“That was his goal, yes.”

“And what are you supposed to be?”

“You can’t tell?” 

Brian feigns surprise. You turn around to face him and look over his outfit. He’s wearing a black bomber, those sleeves still not long enough for his arms. You see a pair of white clogs peeking out from the hem of his black jeans. 

“I… absolutely cannot.”

He suddenly pulls out a pair of aviators from his back pocket, and throws them on. 

“What about now?”

You throw your hands up in the air.

“I’m a bodyguard!”

He waits for your response eagerly. You’re suddenly struck by how much he genuinely looks like a puppy. 

“You’re lazy, that’s who you are,” you laugh, shaking your head. 

“What do you mean?” He asks. 

“Honestly, you’re wasting my time with your subpar costume, Brian,” you tease him. You walk off shaking your head in mock disdain, expecting him to chase after you. You don’t get very far before he catches up with you and grabs you by the waist. Laughing, you let him swing you around. 

The DJ turns the music even louder, if it were even possible, and blasts September, that new Earth, Wind, and Fire song. You can’t help but sing along. With a twinkle in his eye, Brian grabs your hand, spinning you around and around. And the both of you dance. It’s innocent enough. In the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by drag queens and strippers, and bottles of vodka being passed around. You feel the beat of the music deep in your chest. Your head is buzzing from the alcohol. At this rate, nobody could stop you from dancing your heart out. 

An enormous Samoan woman offers the two of you tequila shots, and she doesn’t take no for an answer. You have a feeling this would be drink to send you over the edge. 

One song turns into two. Brian, who never dances, is now sufficiently drunk as well. He’s awkward, but he’s trying. You can’t help but giggle. Two songs turns into three. Rock with You by Michael Jackson starts playing and Brian mouths along, pointing at you. 

With me? You mouth, pointing at yourself and looking around cluelessly. 

With you. He mouths back. 

For the first time that night, you realize how close the two of are, physically. You watch him as he bites his lower lip, a habit that you know by now indicates that he’s focused. Not on playing the guitar this time, but on his fancy footwork. 

He leads you on another spin. 

Meanwhile, your head is starting to spin, for reasons other than alcohol. Trying to shove those confusing feelings aside, you feel your backside slide, just so, against his jeans. Not enough for it be intentional. But enough to have made an impression on you. You feel your cheeks warm as you start to turn back around to face him. 

His hand slides down the side of your arm, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps. Was that intentional or not? 

The beat drives the movement of your hips. Your heart is beating double time. 

Brian leans over to say something in your ear. The smell of his cologne makes your head spin. 

“How long are you going to keep teasing me for?” He says.

You’ve never heard his voice like this before. Low and gravely, husky with desire. 

You watch as a bead of sweat makes a trail from his temple, disappearing into his bushy curls. The tip of his nose brushes against the edge of your ear. His breath is hot against your neck. 

Despite the brain-numbing haze of all the alcohol and drugs and music and partying, you start to feel your stomach sink. In a moment of sudden clarity, you feel it all. You feel his hands on your waist. You feel the pounding of your heart. You feel his excitement through his jeans against your stomach. But you also feel the guilt. You have a boyfriend of four years. For all you know, he still has a wife. And children, for Christ’s sake.

“Brian…” You start to say, turning your face away. 

“You make me want to sin,” he whispers into your ear, breath hot against your pulse point. 

Your knees go weak. You almost give in. But you force yourself to look at him properly. You’ve never seen his eyes like this before. Usually bright and doe-like, now half-lidded, pupils dilated wide, darkening his eyes. The smell of whisky lingers on his breath. 

“I don’t want to be a sin. I don’t want this to be a mistake, Brian,” you finally say. Ignoring the painful twang of your heart, you extricate yourself from his embrace and all but flee the party. 

If it were even possible, the party gets even more rowdy as Freddie the Lumberjack starts to make rounds, perched on some man’s shoulders, pouring rum down people’s throats. The girls in the cages are fully naked by this point. 

All the guests are having the time of their lives, writhing and sweating, without a care in the world. All except one, now. 

There’s a tangled web of people at the mouth of the Fairmont Hotel. Some are entering, some are leaving, some are smoking, some are chatting. Not but a few moments after a distraught woman dressed in emerald green is seen fleeing by cab, a bushy-haired man bursts out on the street, scanning the crowds frantically.


	6. Chapter 6

Chelsea, London  
New Year’s Eve 1979

When you first walked into Roy’s New Year’s Eve party and discovered his presence, that ridiculous, annoying pang in your heart returned. You damn near ran away. But you remembered promising Roy and his new boyfriend James that you would stay. And you weren’t one to go back on your promises. So you pulled yourself together and told yourself you could act like an adult. There were plenty of people you genuinely wanted to catch up with, and you weren’t going to let one person deter you. 

But now it’s half an hour until the clock strikes midnight and you’re feeling antsy. You feel Brian’s eyes on you as you move across the living room. Even while chatting with the other guests, you feel hyper aware of where he is in the room and the tension is starting to drive you off the wall.

He’s trying to make his way to you, you know it. He’s casually chatting and leaving conversations, getting closer and closer to you. You know he’ll bump into you sooner or later and you’ll be forced to acknowledge him. You tell yourself you’re ready. 

But when you hear Brian’s voice, that familiar baritone that was once so comforting, your heartstrings twinge and you hastily exit your conversation. You spot Roy standing by the bar waiting for his drink, finally alone, and so you make a beeline for him. Roy spots you coming your way and immediately tries to hurry the bartender so he can escape your ire. 

“Roy, I can’t believe you. Have I told you that yet? I can’t believe you.”

“Yes, yes, but you promised you would stay until midnight!” 

“I made that promise after you specifically promised me that a certain person would not be in attendance,” you hissed. 

“I’m sorry, but I was telling you the truth! At the time, he told me he couldn’t make it.” 

“Oh yeah? Well what changed? He’s a goddamn rockstar for fuck’s sake. I’m sure he has loads of parties lined up. Plus, I don’t see any of the rest of Queen around.” 

“Well, see, the problem is… I had him over one day. And I mentioned you were coming. And so he changed his mind.”

Your stomach sinks. 

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry about it all, babe. It’s time you spoke to him anyways! I’ve got to-”

Roy receives his drink from the bartender and tries desperately to leave. 

“Don’t you ‘babe’ me, Roy.” You grab him by the arm and all but drag him into the corner, by the fireplace. 

“If you don’t tell me what is going on right now, I will leave and never come back, so help me God.”

Roy sighs. He’s looking dodgy, but you pin him down with your harshest stare. 

“Listen, I know you’re upset and you don’t want to see him. I get it. But, I never told you about that night in New Orleans. After the party, I ended up taking Brian back to his room. He was… in a state. When I say he was an emotional mess, I really mean it.”

“Why would you keep this from me?” You whisper, almost feeling hurt that such a close friend like Roy would not tell you the whole truth. You had spilled your heart out to him the next day, and he didn’t mention a single thing.

“Well, he might not necessarily remember telling me all of this. The man was piss drunk. He told me about his feelings for you. And he went on and on about how he missed his chance with you.”

“God. I had no idea,” you whispered. You didn’t know what to feel anymore. Your heart started to feel hope. But your mind could only focus on the consequences. 

“You just have to talk to him. But be gentle, ok? His marriage has been on the rocks with Chrissie, and you know how much he loves his kids.”

“I… didn’t know that. When did this start?”

“It’s been going on for a while now. Maybe a year.”

You moan, burying your face in your hands.

“This is too much information,” you say. 

“Promise me you’ll talk to him. It’ll be good for you and him. No matter what.”

You nod, but the guilt is eating away at you. 

“I have a lot to think about,” you say finally. 

You let yourself out through the sliding glass doors. As you step out into the freezing cold backyard, you wrap your coat around you tighter. There’s a lounge and fireplace tucked against the furthest corner of the garden. It’s empty, thankfully, because anyone with any sense would avoid being out in this cold. But you enjoy the contrasting feeling of the warmth of the fire against your cheeks and the occasional gust of frigid wind. 

Intellectually, you know you need to speak to Brian. Your friendship with him is a beautiful thing, and you would hate for one awkward night, one close encounter, to ruin it. You’ve seen him and Queen through it all. It would be silly to throw it away over nothing - because truly nothing happened, afterall. But emotionally, it scares you too much. You’re scared of ruining your friendship with him and the band, of acknowledging what transpired, and admitting to yourself the surprisingly strong feelings you didn’t even know you harbored.

“Can I join you?”

You jump, suddenly pulled from your thoughts. It’s Brian. And he’s standing by the fire, looking pale and unsure. 

“I have a peace offering.”

He holds up a bottle of champagne. The stupid sleeves of his coat still aren’t long enough to cover his lanky arms. Some things never change. 

“Of course you can. I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”

Brian sinks into the couch.

“Yeah. We have a lot to catch up on.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence between the two of you, as you both stare into the flames. Making up your mind, you finally turn to him. 

“I honestly don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done. I never meant to hurt you. But we could have made a lot of mistakes that night, but you’re too important to me as a friend. I’ve known you longer than anyone here at the party, except maybe Roy, and it would have killed me knowing that I took advantage of you when you are a married man. And at the time, I was dating Tom, too, and I couldn’t hurt him like that either. God, I’m really, really so-”

“Please, don’t. Don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong. I was the one who was acting like a complete twat. That night, I don’t know what had gotten into me. But… I just knew. Ever since we met at that photoshoot half a decade ago, I just knew I would fall for you.” 

“Brian. Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

“I do. I do mean it. And every time I saw you after that day, I just couldn’t shake the feeling. For Christ’s sake - I’ve been collecting Diableries stereos ever since you showed me that day we bumped into each other on Portobello Road. Because I thought I could impress you with it one day. 

And when I saw you at the party in New Orleans, looking like you did, something just came over me. I knew if I didn’t at least try once, that I would regret it for the rest of my life. Screw the consequences. And I know now that was also the stupidest, most selfish decision I’ve ever made.”

You hide your face in your hands. You can’t believe what you’re hearing. 

“You are a married man. And you are married to an absolute sweetheart. What do you want me to do with this?” you say, finally gathering the courage to look up. Brian has a pained expression on his face. 

“We may be married, but it’s only in name. It’s unfair, yes, but I can’t help that we’ve fallen out of love…” 

A drop of champagne escapes the corner of your lip and trails down your chin. Brian’s long fingers cup your face and brush it away. Your mind suddenly stops working. His finger tips are calloused against your soft skin. Your breath gets caught in your chest when you notice how close he is.

“I just want you to do whatever your heart tells you to do.”

Your stomach swoops. 

“I don’t trust my heart,” you manage to whisper.

“Please... can I kiss you?”

Slowly, you nod. 

His lips are warm and soft. You’ve been drowning for so long because of this man, and this kiss feels like a breath of air. It feels like a stretch after a long nap. He smells familiar. Like earl gray. And he tastes like champagne and the word “finally.” 

The sounds of cheering from inside the house erupts, and fireworks explode in the distance.

“Happy new year,” you pull away and whisper. The distance between you and him is suddenly overwhelmingly cold. His hands sliding around your waist, he pulls you onto his lap. 

“1980,” Brian mutters, his lips already seeking yours again. 

You hands are tangled in his hair and sweater. You feel his hands getting bolder as they roam. 

“Brian… as long as you’re a married man, there is no way we can be together. The guilt would destroy me,” you whisper. 

“I know. I understand. Just… for now. Let’s pretend for a moment longer.”

He searches for your lips, leaving behind a trail of faint kisses up your neck. Your last kiss with him is urgent with desire.


End file.
